swordznsorcery: (Default)
[personal profile] swordznsorcery
Title: Heroes & Villains
Prompt: Villains
Word count: c. 1000
Rating: Maybe PG.

Teleport )

Reality

5 Apr 2016 08:14 pm
[identity profile] awdureslf.livejournal.com
Started ages ago for the "Reality" prompt, finished after listening to Big Finish's "Secrets". Turned out more Vila-centric than I'd intended. It happens ;)

Fic... )

The mission had been straightforward, Nothing like Bucol 2 One lock, one set of codes to steal, Dayna to watch his back while he got on with it. A milk run Tarrant had called it, and although Vila had protested about just the two of them being sent, it had been as easy as predicted. Now headed back to Xenon, he'd been dozing, more bored than tired - but now sat bolt upright at an unexpected sound. He wasn't so far asleep as to not be awake to anything that might be a danger on board after all.

"Dayna?"

It was only when the sound stopped he realised it was her and had in fact been the sound of attempted stifling of sobs. Instantly he regretted shouting out. If he hadn't, he could have pretended he hadn't noticed, could have looked away or coughed or... anything really.

"Um," he said, in the absence of any other ideas.

Dayna had turned her back on him and was wiping her face, her back rigid.

"Are you alright?" Vila ventured.

Clearly not of course but it was what you said wasn't it? What you wanted other people to say too. Left an opening for "Yes fine" if you didn't want to talk or "No, because" if you did. Dayna didn't respond with either. Vila hesitated for a long moment before circling round to see her face.

"My watch, I think?" he offered as another reach out for normality. Shout at Vila for dozing, situation normal...

Still no response. Perhaps he should let it drop. Except they were stuck together at least until they got back to base so maybe he ought to keep trying. After all there was an obvious comment not yet made.

"I was sorry about Justin."

Dayna lowered her hands from her eyes and Vila fully expected to be told to push off and possibly helped on his way in that with a shove or a threat. Instead, Dayna let out another half stifled cry.

"It was my fault."

Vila frowned. Not just sympathetic but genuinely puzzled.

"How d'you work that out?"

Dayna shook her head.

"It was."

Cautiously and rather ineffectually Vila patted her shoulder.

"No... Look, it's normal to wonder that, but there wasn't anything you could have done. The Federation--"

"I led them to him," she cut him off.

"Eh? You mean they tracked you? But--"

"No. I don't mean they tracked me. I led them there." Her voice harded and slowed. "I led Servalan there."

Vila realise he was staring and obviously recognising his confusion, Dayna went on, her voice cold and unnaturally calm after the tears.

"I told her where to find him and I let the troopers in."

Vila's gaze flicked involuntarily to the doors, but there was of course nowhere to go on the ship. Still he itched to edge away. If this was not survivor's guilt if Dayna had really betrayed her old friend then why tell him unless she meant for him to be next? But then why the tears, unless - of course - unless she'd been forced against her will, goodness knew the Federation were more than capable. But when?

"You were captured down on the planet?" he guessed aloud, now hoping that was the case, it was better after all than the alternative. "They... made you tell them?"

He found himself searching her face for some trace of remembered pain. They had ways that left no marks of course, and he knew them from more than rumour, but still he looked for something, some clue, anything that would tell him he wasn't aboard a ship alone with a Federation agent.
Servalan killed her father he reminded himself. Dayna wouldn't help her. Not willingly. It can only be coercion.

Dayna shook her head.

"I hated him. I told them, because I hated him."

Not coercion then.

Conditioning.

The thought was unwelcome, he was in real trouble if it was true. But there hadn't been time had there? She hadn't been alone on the planet all that long. It takes longer than that doesn't it?

Didn't it?

He remembered days, maybe weeks, a succession of impersonal, viciously calm torturers dressed as doctors, lights like knives, endless time, while they made him not him.

It couldn't be done so fast. To wring the truth out of someone yes, but to make them believe the untruth? Surely not.

Even so he couldn't resist the urge to step back, away. Dayna was still speaking and the flat, cold monotone was like a laserprobe jammed straight into memories he wished he didn't have, cutting away all the comfortable, protective fuzziness which time had layered over them.

"Dayna, come on..." He heard his voice shaking, raised his hands in a placating gesture. "Don't talk like that. He was your friend. You told us that. Your tutor. Your father knew him."

"I know that." She stared at him, eyes red, tears standing on her cheeks. "I know that now. I think I know it, but how can I know for certain when I know that what I thought I knew - what I felt! - can be changed? Changed and changed back. How can I believe what I remember when--"

Transfixed by understanding even of this almost incoherent speech, Vila cut in, "--when you remember remembering something different."

It was Dayna's turn to startle, step back. "Yes. How do you--"

Vila shook his head, the movement so quick it was more of a flinch. However little Dayna wanted to discuss what had happened, he wanted to think about it even less.

"It doesn't matter. It was a long time ago." He had to remind himself of that because it didn't always seem so, and right now it could have been an hour ago. Light that hurt, that seared shame and hatred at what he was, straight into his own mind.

"There was a machine," For a moment he barely realised it was Dayna not himself speaking and then he snapped out of it. He'd had practise after all.

"Don't," he said, then again as his voice steadied. "Don't. It doen't help to go over it. Here's what helps. Listen."

Dayna stared at him bleakly. Why would she? Who ever listened to him?

No. Don't. Vila corrected himself this time. She was listening. Keenly, anxious to hear anything that would help, leaning towards him even. That nagging loathing spite wasn't real, was a memory, and a false one at that.

"Listen," he said again. "What you do is you check. You check that, for the stuff you remember, that all the bits fit. See, they mess things up when they - do that to you - they change things, add stuff, delete it but they don't always fill in around the edges. So you can tell by the gaps, if you think."

Dayna frowned, listening but not understanding.

"You said you remember hating him?"

Dayna's face turned bleak again. "Yes."

"Why?"

She hesitated and Vila left long moments go by then jumped on it. "See? Why did you -er - like him?"

"I loved him." She glared at him, as though challenging him to dispute it. He waved a hand instead.

"Right, right, but why?"

This time there was no hesitation. "Even when he was telling me stuff I didn't know anything about he treated me as though I had a brain. He listened, didn't hide things even when it was terrible things happening out in the rest of the Federation. He could have made a fortune betraying us and it never even seemed to cross his mind. I liked how caught up in talking about the science he'd get even when I wasn't interested in whatever the particular subject was at the time. He--"

"See? Too much detail to make up. Especially in the time they had."

Dayna nodded slowly. "Yes, you're right, I see." She gave him a slightly forced smile. "Thank you."

He shrugged, mustered a return smile. "Not a problem." He wanted to say more, to warn her it wasn't an instant fix, that it would still hurt she'd still second guess herself, wonder why she hadn't been able to spot the lie and the inconsistencies at the time, berate her own weakness.
But she wouldn't thank him for that and unlike the gap spotting, knowing wouldn't help.

He sighed.

"So is it my watch then?"

Dayna sat down. "No, it's fine. Go back to sleep."

Vila returned to one of the flight couches and turned on his side. His breathing was soon slow and steady, his eyes shut. He had more practise at that that Dayna too. He knew he looked asleep.

In the dark behind his eyelids he went over the details.

The Federation cared loyally for all its citizens and stealing from it was shameful ingratitude. But he remembered the small things, the ration card stamped 'unavailable', his mother taking in their clothes at the waists so they still looked halfway respectable, the myriad colours of the bruise on his arm where the guard had beaten him out of the line when the food queue had closed early and he'd let out a shout of protest, the Alpha who'd laughed and thrown him a tenth-credit piece when he'd snatched up the food wrapper he'd dropped and every world they'd visited where the same pattern had been repeated.

He was an ignorant, ungrateful stupid Delta who deserved no better. But a thief, if they were any good, paid attention to details and he remembered the details of every supposedly clever security system he'd bypassed, every suposedly superior Alpha who never ever saw him as he walked off with their credits, every tiny triumph over the system, every time he managed to startle the rest of the crew into being even the tinest bit impressed.

He remembered the details and he knew what was real.
[identity profile] lycoris.livejournal.com
Title: Hunting
Rating: G
Prompt: Bunnies
Word Count: 893
Summary: Dayna is getting used to her new life on the Liberator but some things still amaze her ...
Link: Here
[identity profile] awdureslf.livejournal.com
Back before the Federation, back even before the shaky attempts at whole planet government that had preceded it, people had celebrated the start of each new year. Blake couldn't remember quite when they'd done this, or how they decided when was the "start" of a single orbit of the sun, and he had a feeling that in any case not every culture on the planet had agreed.

Some choose the point at which the axial tilt of the planet meant the shortest or longest period of daylight or the closest to equal. Some chose a particular occasion when the moon was unobscured by the planet's shadow, or the position of a particular arrangement of stars held to be significant. Some were more arbitrary, choosing a day important in whatever religion was currently being practised, or one simply selected for convenience or historical significance to the government of the day.

The traditions varied as much as the date, special food or drink or gifts were exchanged, visits made, fires and lights lit, bells rung, pyrotechnics launched. Some people made promises to themselves for the year ahead, wishes and goals. However it was marked, it was a new start, an expression of hope for change for the better.

None of these met with Federation approval and the change of digits in the date became a day no different to any other. It could not be otherwise without loss of control.

Citizens living in the domed cities had no business with the changing season or the night sky. Religion had no place, the Federation wanted nothing that attracted a loyalty or community apart from that of the state. Historical dates might encourage people to think of what was different before the Federation or what might come after when what was wanted was acceptance of the here and now. Food and intoxicants might encourage people to question the daily rations, gathering in family groups might raise questions about those that were absent as a result of real or suspected disloyalty, gathering in noisy crowds might foster a dangerous sense of strength. Excitement and awe at visually appealing light displays served no useful purpose and used money more effectively spent elsewhere. Citizens should on no account form the impression that their own aims and goals were more important than the party line and hope was the last thing that should be encouraged.

Change, in short, was marked as little as possible.

"Resolutions" the promises had been called. Something you were resolved to change.

Blake marked the new date and made his resolution.

There would be change.

Hope

24 Oct 2015 01:28 am
[identity profile] la-avispa.livejournal.com
Couldn't have resisted the temptation to translate my old fic originally written in Russian.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/5060695
[identity profile] elviaprose.livejournal.com
I started this fic for the Tanith Lee challenge, but didn't make it in time. Catch up week came at just the right time. Be warned, there are spoilers for the series.

Mostly Exaggerated (3388 words) by elviaprose
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Blake's 7
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Kerr Avon & Roj Blake
Characters: Soolin (Blake's 7), Del Tarrant, Dayna Mellanby, Deva (Blake's 7), Vila Restal, Roj Blake, Kerr Avon
Summary:

In the aftermath of Gauda Prime, the rebels tell ghost stories.

[identity profile] anne-arthur.livejournal.com
Title: Re-election.
Prompt: What I really want.
Rating: Gen.
Series: AU.
Characters: Blake.
Words: 710.

Read more... )

Shakes' 7

26 Apr 2015 08:09 pm
[identity profile] elviaprose.livejournal.com
In honor of Shakespeare's birthday/this prompt, I've taken a shot at something I've been wanting to do for a while: the final scene of "Blake," roughly (so roughly!) in the style of Shakespeare. Rating is the same as the final episode. Expect Shakespearean levels of homoeroticism. Oh, and beware major spoilers for "Blake."

The Tragical History of Roj Blake )
[identity profile] annie7121.livejournal.com
"What had possessed him? "Blake thought morosely, watching as Scotty hit yet another of his pitches to the boundary, wincing as Gan and Vila barrelled into each other again in a futile attempt to catch the ball as it dropped. Read more... )
[identity profile] annie7121.livejournal.com
Even though the sun was shining, he was cold. These days he was never really warm. It was as if a shard of ice had entered his blood stream spreading its chill.Read more... )
[identity profile] annie7121.livejournal.com
The letter she sent him the day after they first used the word 'love' to each other is in the antique card case he keeps in his room; the only two things he has that connect him with his life on Earth. Read more )
[identity profile] annie7121.livejournal.com
Confidence. Gun. Water.


She had been so young when she left Auron. Just the three of them, her twin Nessa and Yoram Franton, beautiful Yoram. His father had arranged their transport to Sauran Major after the Council pronounced their banishment. One too many pamphlets, protests. They had been warned but how could they keep quiet? Zelda had begged her, cried, pleaded but she had not listened. Not to her, or her other clone siblings whose disquiet and pain at their separation had lodged in her mind, resonating there for many, many lonely months. Even if the Elders had chosen shamefully, to close their eyes to the expansionist plans and atrocities of the Federation to ensure the safety of Auron she could not. And as Yoram had asked so bitterly, how long would such an aggressive Empire respect their neutrality any way?

Passionate, naive they had left on the monthly freighter and three months later were hiding out on the farm of one of Sauron's major cultivators of plant steroids. When, despite the signed treaties, the Federation troops arrived they had fled, joining with other survivors, most as ill-equipped to fight as they were. From the hills they had watched as their peaceful hosts were dragged from their properties and driven into the Saura fields to die from the poisoned barbs of the plants who gave the planet its name and prosperity, turning in impotent disgust from the gruesome excitement of the feeding frenzy. Striking back was their only option and so they had sought out others used to handling weapons, skilled in forms of combat, banding with them to learn the art of warfare, vowing to make the invaders pay dearly.

She remembers the feel of the first gun she ever held, such a flimsy weapon yet the destruction it caused so horrifying. She'd trained herself to use it, first on tin cans, and then on furless saurats, wincing as their bodies jerked, squealed and rolled limply, closing her eyes to the mess of mangled flesh and blood where her bullet had torn through the shiny pink skin. She was overwhelmed by the feeling of power it gave her, the power to choose which life would end at her hands. Later when she killed her first man, she had had to steel herself against the uprush of his terror invading her mind, before abruptly, it stopped as he choked and died.

As they fought on, over weeks and months she became adept at killing, her passion, which on Auron had been civilised and intellectual, coarsening to a ruthless determination to destroy in the name of Freedom, regardless of human cost. Nessa strove for a while to temper her fanatical will, sending streams of compassion for those they killed to cool the angry heat in her brain until the day Yoram fell in a skirmish. She sees still the moment of his fall, slow, endless, his body cartwheeling under the percussive impact of the grenade, tumbling headlong from the cliff . They had both felt his death as their own and had later crept down and searched the scrubby wasteland at the foot of the cliff for a sign of movement. Hopeless, they knew but they had had to try. There was nothing to see except a few red, fleshy Saura, clustered together twitching and swaying although there was no wind, and nothing to hear except a faint sucking. Beautiful Yoram had gone and Nessa had stopped sending her compassion.

"Cally." The mental warning alerted her to the danger and had enabled her and a few others to to escape from the soldiers who had invaded their camp. She had not realised until she reached the safety of the jungle that Nessa was not with them. She tries to shut her mind to the memory of what she had had to endure: the terror, pain, regret as her twin's life had dwindled, the anguish as the barbs bit the still living flesh, setting nerves on fire, the cruel laughter of the thugs that had taken her as they watched her die.

Eventually she and her companions had discovered and joined a well-armed, skilled and organised group of resisters and had begun to inflict real damage. They had targeted transport and communication links, disrupting the smooth running of Federation operations. Most satisfying had been the fires they set in the Saura fields, and she had hardly recognised herself as the fierce pleasure at their discordant, atonal whines of pain coursed through her senses. They became a group to be reckoned with, companions confident in each other's ruthless dedication and skills. To be feared.

Confident, yes, but inexperienced, she realises now. They had none of them anticipated the swift retaliation, the black cloud hovering over the hills as they moved, alert, purposeful through the rocks, towards the Communications Control Centre, the heart of Federation Power. At first it had seemed like a gentle rain was falling, the water caressing skin blistered by sunlight, and they had raised their faces, welcoming it's cool relief. Then, one by one, they had screamed, writhed and fallen silent as the poison engineered to Sauron chemistry sent their metabolism into hyper drive, boiling their blood.

Alone, a deadly silence had enveloped her, the voices in her mind long stilled and now even the sounds of shared friendship gone. Nothing was left her, except the will to seek others, enemies to accompany her in the death she would choose for them.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Ultra 2 extracts the memory tube from the machine. The human female lies peaceful, vacant, her mental profile and personality spectrum successfully transferred. The machine has registered some unusually high energy spikes during the process which will revitalise the Core during absorption. It slots the tube, now categorised as Human vertebrate:Subcategory telepath, into the waiting rack.
[identity profile] annie7121.livejournal.com
Talent

She laughs when they bring her the release papers to sign. As Commissioner for Crime, it was her decision to make and she has let them go. Jarriere expressed surprise but she isn't after blood. Just entertainment.

Of course they've all been modified. She's not a fool. Modifications by surgeon, laser probe, boot: she encourages her team to be inventive but often the simple techniques are the most effective. Best of all she'll be able to watch them fail. The vid disks implanted in their heads enable her to tune in at any time.

She tunes in now, grinning as she notes the way they stand hesitating at the gate of the London Correction Facility. One of the guards helps them on their way with a kick which is very amusing. Such a sorry looking bunch, no longer the stylish rebels of the past. But then, two years of interrogation was bound to leave its mark and prison issue clothes are hardly becoming.

Avon's hair is white, his face lined but the biggest change is in his expression, bewildered, confused, nothing of his former alert curiosity remaining. She could almost feel sad if it was not so delightful. Her specialists finally broke that arrogant confidence but not by torture. Oh, he told her everything she needed to know, everybody does in the end when they are subject to continuous, sustained pain, but his spirit remained defiant. Fortunately the implant of a small limiter has changed that, scrambling his brain so that his intellectual functioning is obtuse and slow. He demonstrates how slow, by moving forward to the edge of the flyway, dithering visibly.

'0hhh', a gasp of pleasurable disbelief escaped her as Avon steps forward into the path of an oncoming flyer, which swerves, just avoiding him, it's alarm shrieking. Vila calls sharply and then swings his arms to drive him back onto the path. How diverting to see him attempt and fail to grab his friend's tunic with those broken hands. Soolin, her stick tapping on the ground, is heading back towards the prison , clearly disorientated. Villa has to run after her, while Avon, his face dull, rubs the toe of his foot back and forth in a patch of dirt, apparently fascinated by the line firming in it.

They will not die. Not yet. There is a place prepared for them at a Government sponsored complex. They will have a flat, enough money in an account to live on and each other to endure.

"Thank you Jarriere". The little man has brought her morning tea, and now wheels her to the desk. She could have a hover chair but a girl has to have her fun and it amuses her to have him push her now considerable bulk, immobile, her spine shattered beyond repair. Legacy from Avon's bullet.

She sips her tea, dabbles a pudgy finger in the dish of sweets, always faithfully replenished, and, before she gets down to the day's business, contemplates the perfection of her plan. Will they kill each other, themselves, go mad? She has deprived them of the very things that defined them.
She has such a talent for revenge!
[identity profile] annie7121.livejournal.com
He opens the door to find her standing there crying. Dispassionately he takes in her swollen lips, her tear stained cheeks, her heaving breasts.

"Yes?" he enquires politely, without a hint of welcome. Surely she'll get the message? They are all tired, resting, waiting for Liberator to get back on station so they can teleport out of this wilderness of a planet. They've said their goodbyes, saved her race. What does she want now?

To his horror she flings himself into his arms, wailing incontinently, her noisy sniffs defeating any hope he might have had of understanding the words that she is sobbing out.

Arms full of damp female, he's tempted for a moment to let go and watch her tumble satisfactorily to the floor. Her hero worship briefly appealed to his vanity but too much devotion, like too much of any sweet thing, has a tendency to make him sick. But she's such a poor little creature, self-sacrificing, faithful to her duty that he finds an unwanted sympathy stirring. He's never enjoyed active cruelty and spurning her now would be like kicking an over-familiar puppy.

"What is it Meergat?" he asks more gently, infusing a warmth into his voice he doesn't feel. " Are your people displeased? Is anyone hurting you?"

With a supreme effort she stops crying, wiping on the back of her sleeve the unsavoury mixture of snot and tears that has accumulated unbecomingly around the nose area of her blotchy face . She looks about 10 years old and sounds it too when she is finally composed enough to speak.

" It's not fair my Lord. I waited all those years alone. I should have got to push the big red button."

He's forced to agree. It was a poor reward!
[identity profile] annie7121.livejournal.com
" So what exactly is your point, Blake?"

"I'm just suggesting that if you'd had enough sense to go around that cloud of particles, we'd still have the Liberator and there would be some point to our existence."

" As usual you fail to understand me. I am asking you what is the POINT of the point you are attempting to communicate?

"What's the point....what do you mean what's the point? It's obvious what the point is! The point is that if you weren't so pigheaded we'd be running the revolution from the Liberator rather than hiding out here on Kaan, surrounded by wailing telepathic children. Stop evading the point. "

" I'm not evading the point. I'm making a point. A point that with typical obtuseness you are failing to grasp."

" So your point is that I'm stupid? Is that the point you're making?. I seem to remember you were the one who nearly got us all killed. You were the one who shot me three times just because I told you I was waiting for you. But it's me that's the stupid one! Well I hardly need you to point that out to me. I forgave you didn't I?

" How the hell did you infer that from what I said? You couldn't be further from my point! But since you brought up the question of stupidity, yes it is stupid to keep walking towards a man whose holding a gun on you and begging you to stand still. And if that point is too subtle for you........"

" Oh get to the point why don't you? Say what you really mean. You're saying it's my fault that you shot an unarmed man, three times? That's your point is it? You're blaming me for your mistakes like you always do."

" MY mistakes? You see them as my mistakes do you? Wasn't the point of your nonsensical bounty hunting subterfuge to expose potential traitors to your cause? How was it my fault that you bumbled around until you found the only undercover Federation Agent on Gauda Prime and unerringly recruited her, thereby precipitating the ensuing chain of disaster? And you accuse ME of lacking sense."

" You're just arguing for the sake of arguing! Twisting things around and avoiding my point entirely. That's my POINT Avon. If you argued less and listened more we might still have the Liberator."

"And my point is that as usual you are wallowing in self pity and blaming others for your own failures. There is no point in indulging in these hypothetical speculations, unless as I suspect your point is to humiliate me."

"Arguing with you is pointless, Avon!"


"At last a point we can agree on, Blake."

Fluff

22 Dec 2014 12:08 pm
[identity profile] anne-arthur.livejournal.com
Title: Fluff.
Prompt: Fluff (doh!).
Author: Anne Arthur.
Rating: Gen.
Word count: ≈ 1000 (sorry . . .)
Season: 4.
Characters: Vila, Tarrant.
Disclaimer: I do not own Blake's 7, and am making no money from this.

Read more... )
[identity profile] muscadinegirl.livejournal.com
Title: Alone
Prompt: Cups
Rating: G
Word Count: 81
Summary: As strength fails him, Vila reflects on his situation in Sand.

alone )
[identity profile] lycoris.livejournal.com
Title: Happiness in Execution
Prompt: Reality
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1627
Summary: Blake will never be one of the Federation's happy puppets.
Link: Here
[identity profile] anne-arthur.livejournal.com
'Killer' is not one of my favourite Blake's 7 episodes. Partly I just don't like 'deadly plague' stories, partly it is the irritating complication of Tynus that it introduces into the Avon embezzlement story - and partly it is those weird and unwieldy costumes. So I thought I might write a story trying to explain them.

Title: Ultimate Protection.
Prompt: Federation Fashion.
Length: 725 words.
Setting: After the Andromedan War.
Rating: Gen.

Read more... )
[identity profile] lycoris.livejournal.com
Title: Rainbows
Prompt: Federation Fashion
Rating: G
Summary: Avon is more interested in the Liberator clothing room than he would ever let on.
Link: Here
[identity profile] lycoris.livejournal.com
Title: Trust
Prompt: Survivors
Rating: PG
Word Count: 604
Summary: Why did Blake keep his original crew rather than find some people more loyal to the cause?
Link: Here
[identity profile] awdureslf.livejournal.com
Really rather substantial spoilers for the most recent three Big Finish Stories: Mirror, Cold Fury and Caged, at least as far as Vila's role in matters is concerned. If you don't actually mind really rather substantial spoilers there's a brief 'need to know' summary below the cut.

Fic and spoilers )
[identity profile] lycoris.livejournal.com
Title: Halloween Taste
Prompt: Cups
Rating: PG
Word Count: 672
Summary: Avon is not going to let Blake rope him into his Halloween party. He just isn't. A little vignette that takes place in the same universe as my modern AU Straight Up and Bitter
Link: Here
[identity profile] lycoris.livejournal.com
Title: A Stolen Life
Prompt: War and rememberence
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Avon/Servalan
Word Count: 7561
Content Notes:: Rape, brainwashing, memory alteration, drugs, psychological torture, non-graphic suicide attempt
Summary: Kerr Avon is very happy. He loves his work and he loves President Sleer - and she loves him back. If he didn't have the headaches and the nightmares, life would be perfect. Surely nothing could ever change that?
Link: Here
[identity profile] anne-arthur.livejournal.com
Title: An interview with Payter Fen.
Prompt: Minor characters.
Word count: c.600.
Rating: Adult - contains references to child abuse.
Disclaimer: I do not own Blake's 7, and am making no money from this.

Some years ago, someone called Jacqueline Speel posted a list of 'plot seeds' on the Hermit.org site: one of these wondered what happened to the three children who thought that they had been sexually abused by Roj Blake. I have developed this in this story. I meant to post it at the end of last week, but life got in the way - I'm sorry it's late.

Read more... )
[identity profile] lycoris.livejournal.com
Title: Crew
Prompt: Bonds
Rating: G
Word Count: 750
Summary: Zen needs a crew.
Link: Here
[identity profile] lycoris.livejournal.com
Title: A Hurricane of Butterflies
Prompt: Time and Space
Pairing: Roj Blake/Kerr Avon
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Blake is so close to finding Control. So close to bringing the Federation to its knees. At least until Avon begs him not to return to Earth. Because Avon knows something Blake does not. Avon has seen the future ... and now Blake must decide if he believes him. And if he does believe him, what should he do now?
Link: Link.
[identity profile] lycoris.livejournal.com
Title: Five Times Avon and Servalan Kissed Each Other
Prompt: Five Times
Pairing: Avon/Servalan
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1676
Summary: Avon doesn't like Servalan. Or trust her. But he does want her.
Probably.
Link: Here
[identity profile] anne-arthur.livejournal.com
Title: Unity.
Prompt: Conflict.
Characters: Cally, Blake, Avon.
Season: 1.
Words: 1056.
Rating: Gen.
Disclaimer: I do not own Blake's 7 and am making no money from this.

The Liberator's crew are in constant conflict. But perhaps there are worse alternatives . . .

Read more... )
[identity profile] lycoris.livejournal.com
Title: Torn
Prompt: Conflict
Rating: G
Word Count: 624
Summary: Jenna is torn between Blake and Avon.
Link: Here

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